


Kisses (Like Cream)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [69]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Established Relationship, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me somehow,” Angela says, in response to her apology, tone teasing and not, in fact, terribly bothered by having been made to wait, even if she does seem rather impatient.  “After all, we have plans, don’t we?”Or,It's my 69th fic in this series, posted on 6/9, about 69ing.  LMAO.





	Kisses (Like Cream)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sealfarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealfarts/gifts).



> originally this was supposed to be 6.9k words but i made a few mistakes and i dont wanna cut anything so. EH. esp since i went thru the trouble of typing this all one handed LMFAOOO

After a certain point, the days in Overwatch begins to blend together.  Certainly, there is always something exciting going on, be it danger or simply a result of the large personalities all together on one base, but that does not mean that familiarity does not breed its own form of monotony.  Yes, there is always a new adventure to be had and yes, there is the chance that any day might be their last, but still, after a year or two, many things begin to look the same, to feel the same.  They have a weekly schedule, and they stick to it, when they can.

For example, it is a Tuesday, which means that Fareeha has flight practice with Angela.  Always, she enjoys flying with her girlfriend, enjoys the time they get to spend just the two of them, alone, enjoys the feeling of the wind in their hair and the sense of accomplishment the two of them get when they successfully execute a difficult maneuver as a team.  She enjoys it but, so, too, is she used to it.  She knows, today and every Tuesday, what will happen, knows in the first five minutes whether it is going to be a productive session or an unproductive one, knows whether or not her girlfriend will grow frustrated or feel accomplished, if they will be distracted by joking or focused, if she is going to hit her marks on time or if she is having an off day.

She knows, too, what comes after practice.  On good days, like today, they lie in the grass together, outside, in only their flight suits, look up at the clear blue sky and talk about nothing, enjoying the fact that they have finished early and have a moment to themselves with no responsibilities—a rare thing.  The familiarity is good for them; Angela enjoys routine, is happiest when the same thing happens every week, and her life has some semblance of stability, of control, and Fareeha appreciates that her girlfriend is happy.

(In truth, Fareeha is also coming around to the idea of a routine, too, finds it comforting to always know what it is she is coming home to.  Maybe Angela has the right idea, in embracing routine, if only because Fareeha finds it is much easier to relax, if she knows what it is that is coming next.  In the field, a deviation from the plan marks danger, and so living with someone who is very predictable makes Fareeha far happier than she ever imagined it would.  With Angela, and her routines, Fareeha is safe.)

Today is one of many days that goes much as expected.  They have an uncommonly good day in practice together, are able to successfully execute all but one maneuver on the first try, and therefore find themselves with almost ninety minutes of additional time, when their practice runs are over.  No mistakes, no misses, perfect synchronicity. 

With their extra time, they go outside as always, are enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces and the cool air from the sea breeze, talking about not much at all.  It is a day like any other, or at least like so many Tuesdays before it.

It is—until it is not.

They are sitting there, the two of them, arguing over what color their new couch ought to be—Angela insists on a neutral, a dark grey or perhaps a black, and Fareeha wants something far more colorful, as their living area is already terribly, terribly neutral—when suddenly, a thought strikes Fareeha.

“Angela,” says she, “Do you know what day it is?”

Her girlfriend clearly does not anticipate the question.  “Ähm, Tuesday?”

“Right,” Fareeha agrees, “But what else?”

Angela furrows her brow, “I don’t know?  Am I forgetting some—”

“No, Angela,” Fareeha says, “What’s the _date?_ ”

“The ninth of June,” Angela answers this without much thought, “Why?”

“Well,” Fareeha says, “You know what June ninth is, right?”

Now Angela is really frowning, “I’m afraid I don’t.”  She turns fully to face Fareeha, “I’m not forgetting something important, am I?  I thought your birthday was in—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” she appreciates, of course, that Angela was concerned about not remembering an important date, but Fareeha is, specifically, thinking of an event which the two of them have never celebrated, “I just mean that, you know, it’s 6/9, and we’ve never—”

“It isn’t 6/9,” Angela cuts her off.

Well, now Fareeha is the one who is not sure what is going on.  She could have _sworn_ today is the ninth, and Angela, too, just agreed that it is.  “But you just said it’s June ninth?”

“Right,” Angela agrees, and looks at her as if this should be very obvious, “But 6/9 is the sixth of September.”

Of course.  Fareeha tends to use the Canadian date format, but Angela is Swiss through and through.  “Okay, but, for _me_ it’s 6/9.”

“And for me it’s 9/6,” says Angela, somewhat stubbornly.

“So is that a no, then?”  It is hard to tell, since Angela’s tone and her expression do not match, she is almost grinning as she says this.  “Or is it an ‘ask me again in September’?”

“Neither,” Angela laughs, “I’m only teasing you.  It isn’t something I’ve ever been particularly interested in, but if you’d like to try it, then I’m more than willing.”

(Good.  If Angela was going to give her a hard time about the date in order to simply avoid saying _no_ , they would have to have a talk, again, about the importance of clear and open communication.  If she was only teasing, however, as she says she was, then that is fine.  So long as Angela knows she _can_ say no, and always feels comfortable doing so.)

“In that case…” Fareeha says, and does not finish her sentence, simply pulls Angela in for a rather deep kiss.

For a moment, things are fine, are wonderful, Angela melts against her and begins to return the kiss with equal enthusiasm.  Neither of them is particularly hurried, at first, but slowly, slowly, one of Fareeha’s hands finds its way to one of Angela’s breasts, enjoys the weight of it, the softness.  Then, suddenly as the thought about doing this at all entered Fareeha’s head, the kiss ends, Angela pushing her back lightly and pulling away.

“Wait,” Angela wrinkles her nose, “Here?”

Fareeha had thought that much was obvious; they are alone, outside, and it is a beautiful day.  No one will see them, no one will interrupt them, they are even out of range of Athena, so no one can bother Angela about a minor injury—and in the case of a major injury, her comm will alert her.  This is the _perfect_ time and place for such a thing, to Fareeha’s mind.

“Well,” asks she, “Why not?”

With a great deal of exasperation, Angela makes a sweeping motion with one arm, “We’re _outside!_ ”

“And?” Fareeha asks, “No one is going to interrupt us, or even see us.  When has anyone _ever_ come to talk to us when we’re out here.  It’s perfect.  No Jesse bothering us cause he cut his thumb, no Lena breaking her own nose and refusing to tell us how, no Genji managing to—”

“I’m not worried about _that_ ,” Angela says, “Lúcio covers medbay shifts during our training time anyway.”

“Oh,” Fareeha says, “What are you worried about then?  It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky…”

“ _Exactly._ ”

“What?”  What could possibly be wrong with having such lovely weather.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Fareeha,” Angela says, tone not annoyed, but a bit chagrined, perhaps, by the fact that Fareeha is still missing… whatever it is she is missing.  “But I’m rather paler than you are.  And I burn pretty easily.”

“I mean,” Fareeha says, “It would be hard to miss, but we’re already out here, so wouldn’t you be burned anyway?”

This pushes Angela into slightly exasperated territory, “I’m wearing sunscreen _on my face_ ,” says she, “But I certainly didn’t think to put any on other areas of my body, particularly ones that get almost no sun exposure.”

When Angela puts it like that, it makes perfect sense, except, “Is it even possible to sunburn your vulva?”

“I didn’t just mean there!” Angela’s face is decidedly red, now, from embarrassment and not the sun.  “But yes, you can sunburn anywhere you have skin.  Including your labia.  And frankly, my body was far too expensive to—”

“I get it!” Fareeha says, not wanting to picture sunburnt genitals any longer, now that she knows it is definitely a possibility.  “I get it.  No sex outside.”

“Or at least not without warning, no.  Then we can _both_ put on sunscreen.  You’re not immune to skin cancer either.”

Although Angela is only doing her job as a doctor, and looking out for Fareeha’s health, she cannot help but feel a little chastised when her partner brings up such things, barely avoids the urge to say _yes, mom,_ in the same tone Brigitte sometimes does, before deciding that doing so with her own girlfriend might have uncomfortable implications.  “Got it.  Sunscreen everything.  Though I think at that point we might as well just stay inside.  It hardly sounds like it would taste very good.”

Angela laughs, not the polite laugh she uses around other people, a light, pretty thing, but her real, genuine laugh, snorting rather undignifiedly at the thought.  “Well, there’s always nighttime.  Or in the shade.  But yes, I don’t think either of us would enjoy ingesting sunscreen _or_ the recovery time from unfortunate sunburns.”

Nighttime, huh?  Well it is nice to know that Angela has not entirely scrapped the idea, but Fareeha will shelve it, for now.  Outdoor sex can wait for another day.  There is only one 6/9 a year.

Or two, she supposes, if she counts Angela’s date, too.

She will have to remember, in September, if this goes well, will have to try to leverage that into a repeat performance.

(Of course, if this goes well enough, she might not have to leverage anything at all.  For all that Angela is not particularly adventurous when it comes to her own sexual preferences, Fareeha has found that once she convinces her girlfriend to _try_ something, if they enjoy it then it often enough ends up happening again, without her even having to ask.  Which is very nice, it is, even if she would have settled for a lifetime of vanilla sex, if that was what truly made Angela happy, because her girlfriend means far, far more to her than her sex life.)

“Well,” says she, “I think it might actually be rainy, tonight, so we’ll have to discuss that more later,” they always talk about things like that, long before they do them.  Usually it helps them prevent mishaps, although not always.  “For now, though, we can head inside and—”

“Can it wait until tonight?” Angela asks her.

“If you want to,” Fareeha says, “And we really don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“I do,” Angela insists, “It’s just that, you know, I just got back on base yesterday, and I didn’t exactly have time to shave while we were in Novgorod.  So things are a little, ah… hairy.”

This amuses Fareeha, but she resists the urge to react visibly, “Angela, that implies you shave normally.”

“I do when I remember to!”

“Which is what, once a month, every two months?  I really don’t care how much hair you have.  Why the sudden insecurity?”

Petulantly, Angela crosses her arms, “It’s a different view, isn’t it?  You aren’t going to be able to look up at me, at that angle, like you usually do.  _All_ you’re going to be seeing is my hair.  I don’t want it to be too unappealing.”

“I told you, I don’t care.  It’s just hair,” and anyway, of all the pubes Fareeha has seen in her life, Angela’s really are relatively inoffensive.

“Just hair that you usually remember to groom,” Angela points out.

In that Fareeha always makes sure that her own body hair— _all_ of it—is neat or shaven, Angela is not wrong, but, “I do that for myself, Habibti.  Not for you.”  In fact, Angela could not convince Fareeha to change her personal grooming habits if she tired.  They are the result of cultural expectation and personal preferences developed over the course of a lifetime both, and will not be changing for anyone, not even on special occasions. 

(Angela, on the other hand, only seems to shave when she gets the idea in her head, again that she ought to be doing it _for_ Fareeha, and no matter how many times that Fareeha insists it is ridiculous, the habit persists.  Frankly, so long as Angela is healthy and happy, Fareeha does not care _what_ she does to her body, but does not know how to approach the subject tactfully.  Body image is a tricky thing to discuss with anyone, but knowing that Angela is trans, Fareeha is particularly sensitive about bringing up aspects of personal grooming that are more gendered in nature.  As long as Angela keeps things clean—and she does—Fareeha does not feel it is her place to intrude, and worries that broaching the subject would do more harm than good.)

Only a hum in response from Angela, and after a moment’s pause Fareeha adds, “We can still wait until tonight, if you prefer.”

“I would, yes,” Angela says, “I’m still catching up on sleep post-mission anyway, so maybe I should nap first.  Wouldn’t want to fall asleep while we’re—”

“ _Definitely nap_ ,” Fareeha says.  The situation is not an entirely hypothetical one; Angela has fallen asleep during sex before—even if usually in between rounds, when Fareeha is going to grab water or a toy—but Fareeha does not fancy another such blow to her ego.  And things are more fun, anyway, when Angela is well rested, has the energy to participate more enthusiastically.

(Fareeha has never been the one to fall asleep, but she is, however, guilty more than once of asking to stop at the beginning of something because she realizes, suddenly, that she is too tired to finish what she started.  It is an occupational hazard, she supposes, one that goes along with their too frequent long nights and persistent jet lag.  At least they _try_ to make time with each other.)

“I will, then,” Angela says, “If you’ll just lie back, we can get comfortable.”

“Going to use me as a pillow again?” Fareeha asks, even as she obeys, follows the gentle push of Angela’s hand on her shoulder until she is flat on her back.

Rather than answering the question with words, Angela places one cheek on Fareeha’s chest, throws an arm over her abdomen and a leg across hers, and lets out a contented hum.

Well, Fareeha has no complaints, enjoys being held, like this, safe and secure, held in place but not with the threat of anything coming at her from behind, just the comforting weight of her partner’s body half on top of hers.

Both of them dose off, for a bit, enjoying the early summer heat and the pleasant company, and a warm feeling stays with Fareeha throughout the rest of the day, even when she has to return to doing her work, and the headache which is ensuring everyone’s post-mission reports are filled out correctly, and investigating any inconsistencies therein.

In fact, the warm happy feeling from having napped is so thoroughly distracting that she almost forgets about the plans she and Angela made entirely, until she finds herself being suddenly cornered upon her—admittedly somewhat late—return to their quarters that evening.

“Where,” Angela demands between kisses, moving to push Fareeha back onto their couch before seeming to remember, suddenly, that they _broke_ the couch, and have yet to replace it, and settling for pushing her against a wall in the living area instead, “Have you _been_?”

“Something came up,” Fareeha says, rather wanting to forget about the mess that took up much of her late afternoon and early evening, rather than going into detail about why, exactly, there had been such glaring inconsistencies between Hana, Zenyatta, and Reinhardt’s reports of the same piece of equipment malfunctioning, and the incident that led up to said malfunction.  “You know, mission report stuff.”

A sympathetic groan from Angela, into her shoulder, who does, indeed, know.  As a doctor, she is meant to file an accurate report about how all injuries are healing, including how it is they were sustained in the first place, which is often easier said than done.  Many people on their team have quite the habit of embellishing things, and even those who do not often have a very different perspective on events from one another, making getting a straight answer out of nearly anyone nigh on impossible.

“I suppose,” Angela says, “You’re forgiven.  But I’ll have you know that I got back, cleaned up, and was lying in bed _waiting_ for you for ninety minutes, before I had to get up and put clothes on, because any longer like that and I was going to fall asleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha says.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me _somehow_ ,” Angela says, tone teasing and not, in fact, terribly bothered by having been made to wait, even if she does seem rather impatient.  “After all, we have plans, don’t we?”

Plans, right.  In the aftermath of her stressful evening, Fareeha almost forgot about their earlier agreement, is glad that Angela reminded her _before_ the day was out.  It would not do to miss 6/9, and to have to wait another year. 

Or until Angela’s 6/9, come September.

(Not that Fareeha thinks they would have waited for that, even if they had ended up not doing anything tonight.  Once Angela gets an idea in her head, even if it was _Fareeha’s_ suggestion, she tends to make sure that it happens, and sooner, rather than later.  It is a trait Fareeha greatly appreciates, particularly with how difficult it can be for the two of them to make their schedules work.  Being together takes effort, and conscious planning, the setting aside of time, and Angela is always willing to try.  That is more romantic than the sex itself, in its own way, a sign of commitment to their relationship long-term that makes Fareeha feel loved.)

Rather than answering with words, Fareeha simply returns Angela’s kisses, pushes her back enough that they are no longer up against the wall and moves her to their bedroom.  They have, by now, done this enough times that Fareeha does not need to pay attention to where she is going, knows how far the bed is and manages to guide Angela there, backwards, without either of them bumping into anything or stumbling over the threshold.  Which is good, because now that Fareeha remembers their plans, she would really rather not delay them again.

And, indeed, things go smoothly for a bit, she manages to get Angela laid out on the bed beneath her, to unbutton her lover’s blouse while her own shirt and pants are unbuttoned for her, thinks to kiss Angela for only a moment more before they both shrug out of their clothes, when Angela taps twice on her chest, their signal to pause, for a moment.

Fareeha sits up, legs folded beneath her, offers a hand to Angela to pull herself up into a sitting position too, “What is it?”

“How are we going to do this, exactly?” Angela asks her.

One would think that would be obvious, “The usual way?” Fareeha says, and hopes that does not sound rude.

“No, not the _position,_ ” Angela says, “I understand that much.  But it takes me a bit longer than you to finish, sometimes.  And I think we probably want to time this well?  It isn’t that I don’t enjoy having my face in your—well, I just think it could be awkward, for one of us to be waiting for the other to come.”

“That _is_ a problem,” now that Angela mentions it, Fareeha is not sure why she did not think of this rather obvious obstacle sooner.  Somehow, in her fantasies, it always plays out smoothly, two perfectly timed orgasms of about equal intensity, which is why, she supposes, that they are just that, _fantasy_.  The reality of sex is far less neat.

“We have, I think, three options,” Angela says, having apparently already considered this before bringing it up to Fareeha, “First, we start on me first and I only join you halfway, but that seems to defeat the point.  Second, I make you come at least twice—which I’m perfectly amenable to, by the way—but I worry that then you’ll want water after and it will… interrupt things,” Fareeha does not blame her, that has happened in the past.  “Or, third, and I think most logically, you let me edge you, but I know you’re not always in the mood for that.  So it’s up to you.”

“Um,” Fareeha feels rather put on the spot, here, “I hadn’t really thought about logistics.  I know you said third sounded best, but—”

“I’m open to all three options,” Angela clarifies, “I wouldn’t have mentioned the others if not.

“Right,” Fareeha says, “Good, cause I’d really rather go with your first idea.  I mean, the timing might be a little hard, but I think by this point we know each other well enough to make it work.”

(Normally, she would not say no to getting off twice, but this is very specifically _meant_ to be reciprocal, and she feels a little uncomfortable with the fact that it is _always_ her who comes more than once, and never Angela.  It feels unfair, to her, even if she knows her girlfriend is not upset by this in the slightest.)

“Alright,” Angela agrees, “That sounds fine to me.  I tell you to stop when?”

“Tell me to stop?”  That seems rather counter-intuitive.

“Well,” Angela says, “I think it would be easiest if we started in the most familiar, comfortable position, and then just moved when we were both ready to—There’s less of a chance of being sore, this way, I think.”

Being sore?  “Angela, how hard to you think this is?”

“I’m not very flexible, Fareeha,” Angela sounds a bit exasperated, “And anyway, if I’m the one who’s on top, my knee is still a bit sore.  I didn’t want to waste nanites on something so trivial, but it _is_ painful, when I put pressure on it.”

(Fareeha rather suspects that it is not the waste of resources which bothers Angela, but the mandatory incident report that comes with it, wherein she would have had to have admitted to horribly bruising her knee the night before by bumping into their coffee table.  Such clumsiness, which she claims is the result of spending so much of her time in a suit with assisted navigation, is something that does not fit with the way Angela presents herself to the rest of the world, as competent and put together.)

Admittedly, Fareeha had not considered that, but, “You know, we can do it lying on our sides.”

“What?”

“Simple.” Fareeha says, “We both lie on one side, and you put your head on the inside of my bottom thigh, like it’s a pillow, and—”

“Does that still count?”  Angela asks her.

“Why would it not?  We’re still both going down on each other at the same time, aren’t we?”  Sure, it maybe is not the variation of the position most people picture when they think about 69, but in Fareeha’s experience it still does the job.

A frown from Angela, “I don’t know!  You’re the one who asked about it, so I just thought—well, I didn’t want to disappoint you, somehow.”

“It’s fine,” Fareeha says, “We’ll do it the way that’s most comfortable for both of us.  The last thing I want is to have to stop because someone’s in pain.”

(That, too, is an occupational hazard.  One or both of them is always healing from some injury or another, and Angela can only speed things up so much.  Always, after the worst of an injury is healed by nanites, residual pain remains, and it does, from time to time, have an impact on their sex life.  Fareeha has wondered, in the past, how the other couples on base deal with such a problem, but has never asked because Angela is so very, very uncomfortable with details of their sex life being discussed, and in any case, she does not want to make it sound as if they are having _problems_ , because they are not.  So she does not ask, but she does wonder, hopes that one day someone else will bring it up.)

“That is a good point,” Angela says, and seems to be satisfied, then, that they have discussed everything, kisses Fareeha, sweet and long, mouth closed but not without passion, before breaking away to strip off her clothes, hastily and without much show.

Still, it is obvious that she was thinking about this, when she got re-dressed, because Fareeha knows that the bra she is wearing is certainly not her usual, and the underwear matches, satin, and not cotton, as Angela generally prefers.  Fareeha appreciates the effort, even if she is suddenly aware that her current underwear is not as nice as usual—she needs to do laundry tomorrow—and that for once it is Angela whose underclothes are nicer than hers.  Certainly, she is not complaining, even if she does feel a bit underdressed, enjoys the sight of Angela like this, blue satin matching her eyes, and standing out well against her skin.

(Angela herself actually prefers pink, but Fareeha once mentioned reading a study that found people think their partner sexiest in their favorite color, and in the months following that statement Angela has acquired several more sets of blue undergarments, almost a match for the Raptora suit.  Fareeha does not have the heart to say that her own favorite color is, in fact, orange, and thinks the blue is a better color on Angela than that would be, besides.)

Much more carefully, Fareeha removes her own clothing, folds it neatly and sets it aside, puts Angela’s in the laundry hamper with it before returning to bed.  As she walks, she puts a bit of extra sway in her hips, for show, and is gratified to feel Angela’s eyes on her as she moves, to know that her girlfriend is watching with _great_ interest.

Still, she continues to take her time as she crawls back onto the bed and on top of Angela, knows that, in fact, by teasing she will get Angela to the point of arousal she wants her to be far faster than if she tries being more direct.  It is a bit counter-intuitive, but if they try to take things too quickly then her girlfriend just grows frustrated by her own slow natural response, and so going slowly is a more enjoyable experience, all around.

In any case, Fareeha hardly objects to that, quite enjoys taking her time as she slowly trails kisses from the corner of Angela’s jaw down her neck, leaves small almost-marks at her pulse point and along her collarbone, feels Angela’s fingers tangle in her hair—not pulling, because she does not like that, having her hair pulled, but _there_ , a gentle pressure to tell her that she is doing a good job of things.

Gradually, she drifts further downward, shoves down the cups of Angela’s bra to reveal her breasts, plays with them and teases at them for a bit before actually giving in and closing her lips around one nipple, hears Angela’s sharp intake of breath in response, hissed through her teeth.  Always, she is so _sensitive_ here, in a way Fareeha is not, and so it is quite enjoyable, to watch her react, to hear it, to know that something so simple can trigger such a large response from her partner, in a way that it never would if their positions were reversed. 

This is something Fareeha enjoys, all the ways in which she and Angela are so very different, like this, all the small variations in their preferences which separate them.  It seems there is always something new to discover, to try and understand, and it continues to amaze how, despite everything, they complement one another so well.

(That feeling is hardly limited to the sexual, of course.  Any attempt to name and to categorize all of their tiny differences would be impossible, yet Fareeha tries, wants to know everything there is to know about Angela, and what is more, to _understand_ all of it.  Such will never happen, so she has always a new cause to study her partner, to contemplate what it is that makes Angela tick.  That is a good thing—despite the routine they have fallen into, Angela has never _bored_ her, and she rather suspects she never will.  Even if Fareeha runs out of questions, there is comfort, too, in the way they fall into little patterns together, in knowing what she can expect.)

Sooner, this time, than is perhaps usual, Angela lightly pushes at the top of her head, urges her to move further downwards, and Fareeha wonders—has Angela been picturing this, all afternoon?  For how long has she been here, alone in their quarters, waiting for Fareeha to arrive?

In the future, Fareeha thinks, she will have to tease Angela more, will have to tell her in the morning just what, exactly, she plans to do to her that night, because clearly it has had some effect on her partner.

Or, maybe, it is just the idea of this in specific, of trying something new, and having a specific visual in her head of how it will go.  Fareeha could ask, but her mouth is rather occupied as it makes its way down Angela’s abdomen, sucks a mark on the inside of her hipbone and another on the inside of her thighs.  And she suspects it will be more fun, to find out by experimenting, watching to see how Angela looks at her over meetings, knowing what it is their plans are for the evening, locking eyes with her and giving her a knowing look.  Maybe it will not affect Angela, terribly, but maybe she _will_ get worked up, and it could help, too, to ensure that Angela is already _ready_ when they get into bed, and remove all the awkwardness and insecurity surrounding that.

Certainly, Fareeha will at least have fun trying.

For now, however, she pulls Angela’s panties to the side and focuses her attention again on the task at hand, on the feeling of Angela against her mouth, the taste of her.  To say that she tastes sweet would certainly be an exaggeration, but insofar as anyone’s can be, Fareeha thinks Angela’s wetness is quite nice, and she _smells_ good, certainly, a familiar musk that has Fareeha growing wet, too, particularly in combination with the plea from above her to _hurry up_ , to stop teasing so much.  All she has done thus far is lightly lick and suck at Angela’s labia, has neither paid any attention to her clit nor her entrance, and although of the two of them Angela is usually more patient—here she is not, not tonight, all but demands Fareeha increase the speed, the pressure, or move her focus elsewhere, at the very least.

Well, Fareeha can be an obliging lover, when she wants to be, gradually inches closer and closer to Angela’s clit, teases her tongue in tighter and tighter circles around it before darting back downwards and licking the whole of Angela in broad strokes, enough to excite but certainly nowhere near enough to make Angela come.  How long this lasts for, she is not entirely certain, but she slowly ramps up the pressure, the speed, the stimulation, and in response can feel Angela begin to get closer and closer to the edge, hears her breathing pick up, feels her thighs tremble on either sides of her head, knows from the way Angela’s hips begin to move with her mouth, chasing the motion, and she thinks, _Oh she’s close,_ moves her mouth back upwards and—

“Wait!” Angela says, and Fareeha freezes, sits back.

“What?”  Did she do something wrong?  “Is everything okay?  I—”

“No, no, you were fine,” Angela says, sounding a bit like she is catching her breath, “ _Too_ fine.  Aren’t we meant to be doing something else?”

“Oh,” says Fareeha, “Yes,” and feels herself blush.  Let it never be said that she does not enjoy going down on women—in fact, she forgot entirely what their original goal was, so thoroughly distracted by what lovely sounds she could draw from Angela.  Then, with less embarrassment and more enthusiasm, “I take it you’re ready then.”

“Maybe a bit more than,” and Angela’s blush shows on her face, “You may have to start off slower again.”

Well, Fareeha has no objections to that.  Without further ado she moves, rotates her body so that it is parallel to Angela’s, and moves to lie down.  There is only one problem—with Angela’s head so near to the pillow, there is nowhere comfortable for her legs to go.

“Um,” says she, “Would you mind scooting down, a bit?  There’s not really much space to—”

“I see,” Angela says, and moves accordingly, so that now the two of them are closer to the center of the bed. 

There is a bit more awkwardness, more jostling, more struggling to find a position that works for both of them, and where no one’s feet are mashed against the headboard or dangling over the foot of the bed, but with minor embarrassment, an errant elbow or two, and more than a bit of giggling they do, eventually, sort it out, the two of them both bent, slightly, to make up for the minor difference in their heights, and with their heads resting on the lower thigh of the other.

Then there is silence, a moment of it, in which neither of them does anything, not wanting to be the one who makes the first move—or just not certain, quite, where to start.

“So do we, ähm, just get started then?” Angela is the one to break the silence, and Fareeha cannot help but laugh at the question.  One would think that, by now, the two of them would know how oral sex works, having plenty of experience, but doing this together in this position is nonetheless new territory, and carries all that awkwardness and nervousness with it.  Fortunately, Angela laughs too, and they waste another minute or two laughing entirely too hard to do anything. 

“Sorry,” Fareeha says, when she has caught her breath again, “Sorry, yes.”

A thoughtful hum from Angela, but otherwise Fareeha gets very little warning before there is, quite suddenly, a warm mouth at her center—one which, of course, jolts her back into action.

Or, something approaching action.  As Angela pointed out earlier in the afternoon, this is the opposite angle from usual, and Fareeha finds herself suddenly realizing that her muscle memory, all her well-honed knowledge of what Angela likes, and where, is going to have to be reversed.

In any other circumstance, she would stop longer to consider this, would come up with some sort of plan, or ask Angela to talk her through what sounds right, but Angela appears to have felt no trepidation at _all_ , judging by the delightful feeling of her mouth exploring Fareeha, tongue licking in a zigzag pattern, pausing at the corner of each motion to suck lightly, apply pressure, and Fareeha thinks that she _definitely_ does not want to stop things again now.  Perhaps Angela’s movements are less precise than usual, less pinpoint accurate in finding all the most sensitive parts of Fareeha, but she is certainly making up for that with enthusiasm, and Fareeha thinks she can do the same.

(At the very least, no one could ever accuse Fareeha of being a less than eager lover, and although she would like to think of herself as having a great deal of finesse, too, she supposes in this one case her passion—and the adjustments she makes along the way as Angela responds to her—will suffice.)

So she stops hesitating, moves her mouth, again, to Angela, starts not quite slowly, but certainly with less intensity than she had a few minutes ago, and tries to listen to Angela’s responses.

 _Tries._ It is very hard to focus on the task at hand with how very, very distracting Angela’s own movements are, and she knows she is being sloppier than usual.  But perhaps that is part of the appeal of this, the impreciseness, the ways in which she is too lost in what Angela is doing to truly focus on her own actions, and vice versa.  At the very least, Angela does seem to be enjoying what she is doing, lets out a moan against Fareeha in response to Fareeha’s tongue coming down to flick at her clit, once, twice, before darting away, and the vibration of Angela’s mouth against Fareeha’s own center is—lovely, to say the least.

Like this, it is so easy to lose track of where one of them ends and the other begins, and their pleasure feeds off one another, grows together.  When Fareeha suggested this, it was more on a lark than anything, just a reaction to her realizing the date, and she knew she would enjoy it, but she did not anticipate _this,_ did not think about the ways in which they would complement each other so nicely _._

(Of course, Fareeha has enjoyed this with previous partners, but things are somehow so often different, with Angela.  Probably, it is the emotional connection they have, the level of feelings tangled up in everything.  When Fareeha tried this particular act before, it was not with any of her other long-term lovers.  But that is not _quite_ enough to explain it, or at least not everything.  In sex and otherwise, there is a connection between them, a synergy, a way of knowing what it is the other is thinking, feeling, needing, that makes sex all the better.  The sex they have is not the most technically precise or physically demanding sex of Fareeha’s life, and she doubts it ever will be, but somehow it is more satisfying, for the way that she _feels_ with Angela.)

Perhaps things are a little too good, because between the arousal Fareeha was already feeling after the time they spent on foreplay, and the sensations she is experiencing now, Fareeha already feels her heartrate speeding up, feels a familiar coiling at her center, a pressure, and thinks _not yet._

 _Focus on other things,_ she tells herself, like the feeling of Angela’s ass in her hands, soft and the perfect size to grab, or the way the muscles in Angela’s thigh tense and untense beneath her head, or the taste of Angela beneath her lips and—

Those things are all, in their own right, arousing, which is rather counter to Fareeha’s intentions.  But she cannot help it—Angela is, after all, so very attractive to her, and the knowledge that she is bringing someone else pleasure has always been a turn on, too, makes her feel sexy, knowing that she can get someone else off.

That is what she should focus on, finishing Angela before she herself finishes, because that seems like the better bet, right now.  Already, earlier, Angela was very close, so it should not be too hard, now, to get her back to that point.  If Fareeha only focuses on that…

As quickly as she can, without it being too much, she transitions to focusing more and more attention at Angela’s slit, and it is working, she can tell, is definitely getting Angela closer as she hands on her thighs tighten their grip more and more, and the frequency with which Angela moans against her increases—a double edged sword for that, too, threatens to push Fareeha over, and she is hardly paying attention to what her own mouth is doing, anymore, is just focusing on waiting just a little bit longer.

 _Just focus on Angela, on her pleasure._ Easy enough to do, in theory, for Angela is very distracting in her own right, the smell of her, the taste, the way, even muffled as they are, the little noises she makes are so arresting.  Under normal circumstances, Fareeha might try and replicate the exact motion that triggered such a sound, try to see if she can get Angela to make it again, and again, and again.  But now is not the time, however.  Not only can she not hear Angela so well as usual, muffled as her girlfriend is by the fact that her face is very much buried in Fareeha’s _own_ labia, but she does not think that drawing out Angela’s pleasure for too much longer would be for the best.

A particularly deft lick from Angela, the right pressure and angle on Fareeha’s clit, and she feels herself start to pulse, has to consciously stop herself from orgasming, then and there, is able just barely to stop herself, but cannot suppress the shiver that goes up her spine at the sensation, nor calm the wild beating of her heart.

She is not going to last much longer, she knows, but she wants to—wants Angela to come first, if only so that she will not feel self-conscious, again, not think that she takes too long, and feel badly for it.  That would not do, particularly when Fareeha thinks Angela’s responses to things are perfect, as they are.

Well, under normal circumstances. 

Now, close as she herself is to coming, she wants very much to be able to push Angela over the edge just a little bit faster, before the inevitable happens and she finds herself coming.  Already, she is at the plateau, herself, knows that one wrong—or right, rather—move from Angela will end this.

So she speeds up, increases the pressure, makes little noises against Angela’s own skin, so she can enjoy the vibration of it herself, even if Fareeha is generally the less vocal of the two of them, by nature if not by preference.  She tries to measure Angela’s response by the reciprocal noises she can feel against herself, uses that to get Angela closer, quickly as she can.

And Angela _is_ close, she knows, from the way her thighs are tight, now, around Fareeha’s head, almost painfully so, being more muscular than they look at first glance, so Fareeha focuses just a little more on her clit, sucks just a touch harder than Angela usually likes, once, twice, then a third time— _hard._

It works.  Angela’s thighs lock around her head, and her hips buck into Fareeha’s face in a way which is just shy of being painful, her grip on Fareeha’s thighs stinging, a bit, where her nails manage to dig in despite being so very short.  Despite all this, Angela keeps her mouth moving and Fareeha finally, finally, lets herself relax, lets herself be swept away by the sensations both literally surrounding her and at her clit.

For her part, she tries not to move too much, does not want to risk somehow hurting Angela, given their unusual position, but other than that she lets the sensation sweep over her.  Physically it is not, perhaps, the most powerful orgasm she has ever had, but it is enhanced by the knowledge that Angela, too, is coming, that they are both of them enjoying this _together,_ by the feeling of connection, of oneness.

And then it is over, and Fareeha is tapping at Angela’s thigh to signal that she needs to be released, and sitting up.  In a strange way, it feels almost like a loss, to be separate, and Fareeha thinks, _I don’t want to be apart from her ever again._

Ever, a funny thought.  Never did she consider their relationship to be temporary, but forever is a long time, and not something she feels ready to ask for yet.  Angela has always asserted her desire to be independent, to be free to leave when she decides it is best, and so to ask for forever—it is impossible.

Yet, Fareeha thinks, as Angela pulls her into a hug, makes her lie down so she can curl protectively around Fareeha once again, it _is_ what she wants.

Their days blend together, more often than not, but Fareeha knows, now, that she likes that, likes the idea of an eternity with Angela.  It is not something she ever thought she would want, that sort of monotony, but she has begun to find comfort in it, and now cannot imagine what her life would be without it.  No matter what becomes of them, of Overwatch, she knows she wants Angela by her side—and knows, to, that it would be terribly unfair to ask that of her lover.

A problem for another time.  For now, the gentle rise and all of Angela’s chest against hers lulls Fareeha off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> idk if any of u saw on twitter abt what happened at dc pride but LMFAO i always have the worst time when i go there. five yrs ago i got a concussion, this year... that. hope all ur pride months are going MUCH better
> 
> well, at least i went w my gf
> 
> anyway pls let me know ur thoughts especially if they are just the word "nice"


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